


Suck on That, Life

by godtiermeme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Deaf Dave, F/F, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, you're a vampire! you're a vampire! EVERYONE'S A FUCKING VAMPIRE!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: So it turns out that turning some random asshole into an immortal being is a big no-no. Not only because it's against the so-called "Vampire Moral Code" or anything like that, but because the person in question is a certain pompous jerkwad with more ego than common sense.Likewise, it turns out that being the freshly minted immortal has its pitfalls, too.This is the tale of a pair of bumbling, undead idiots just trying to get by in the modern world.





	1. Dracula

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be styled like a play script, but the only real leftovers from that are the uppercase names. i kinda liked the look so i'm keeping it. also monospace fonts are great.

Kanaya Maryam, a tall, elegant young woman of twenty-three years of age, stands in a dimly lit alleyway. Her jade green eyes are focused at the figure at her feet, who just so happens to be slowly regaining consciousness. Her thick, tapered black brows furrow, pressing together to form a near-singular line of concern.

"I do believe that you've gotten yourself into a bit of a situation," she observes matter-of-factly. "It might be time to call someone. Maybe Rose?"

To this well-intended reply, there comes a harsh rebuttal. Its source is Karkat Vantas, a short and somewhat stocky twenty year old. His black hair is habitually messy, and his brows are always knit together in a look of perpetual disdain.

"There's no way in fucking hell I'm going to willingly call those old windbags," he snarls. "We are perfectly capable of solving our own problems. We don't need those old farts butting into our business." As if to somehow emphasize this point, Karkat nudges the unconscious man at his feet. He pokes the toe of his shoe against the man's shoulder, only to quickly jump back when there's an audible reaction.

After recovering from this incident, he clears his throat. He tugs at the lapels of his tattered black suit jacket, flattening it against his chest in the process. "There," he announces, using his most confident voice, "Nothing to worry about. I've got this shit covered like..."

Here, the man sits upright. Through frames which once held near-opaque black lenses, a pair of odd, red eyes scan their surroundings. Thin, meticulously maintained blond brows form an inverted arch of confusion. On his face is a look of nonplussed amuse—the sort of look you'd have if you watched someone get smacked in the balls on _America's Funniest Home Videos_ for the umpteenth time.

He yawns, stretches his arms above his head, and announces, without so much as a shred of doubt, "Damn. That was one fuckin' wild party last night."

And, to this, only a confused silence serves as a retort.

"Hm…" the man muses aloud. He runs his fingers through his hair, regards the other two occupants of the alley, and slowly digests the specifics of his situation. "Guess you could've done worse than an alleyway. Nothing missing here… Name's Dave, by the way."

Karkat lets forth a long sigh. It might just be the sigh that goes down in history as the most dissatisfied sigh of all of mankind. From past to present to future. The sigh to define all sighs. "I… Are you shitting me right now, or are you just that fucking clueless?"

"Hm?" The man, apparently named Dave responds. His brows are raised high above their usual position, and his mouth hangs open, appearing like the entrance to some sort of strange fly cave. "You say something, pal?"

To the two nervous vampires in charge of this whole kerfuffle, this comment is just one in a long list of head-scratchers. By way of a brash, unyielding personality, Karkat ends up being the first to speak. He presses the tips of his fingers together, forming some sort of odd tent, and releases another of his despondent sighs. "Yes, hello? Is this thing on? Are we coming through loud and clear? You're standing in a pool of your own blood, you fucking nematode. You absolute goddamned nugget."

The rant receives only a slight huff of acknowledgement. After making a show of picking his ears, Dave offers a small snicker. "Man. You sure do love talking, jackass. Yap yap yap. You're like an angry chihuahua. Just keep barking up some fuckin' tree like it's the leg that gets you to the mailman's fly. What're you going to do then? Bite his postal service dick off?" Throughout this ordeal, his facial expression remains one of stalwart neutrality.

Both Karkat and Kanaya exchange confused glances.

"Okay. Okay. Looks like we're not all on board the pun run. So, I'll let you two in on the secret. Name's Dave Strider, Deaf DJ extraordinaire, and it's real nice to meet y'all." Here, Dave decides to extend two things at once. This generous handshake comes with the caveat of grabbing a business card; it's an ingenious, if not annoying little trick, admittedly. "So, I'm guessing you two haven't seen my gigs or anything?"

When the business card goes unnoticed—or, rather, no one takes it—it's returned to its place in his pants pocket.

"You always pick the worst people to feed on," Kanaya comments under her breath. She rolls her eyes, folds her arms across her chest, and offers her companion a look of complete disbelief. "You can't pick someone who just shuts up and dies _once_?"

Karkat's response is defensive. "I just pick at random, Kanaya. Don't get on me about this shit right now. Shouldn't we deal with this fucking walking disaster first?"

After a brief pause, Kanaya nods. "That would be a reasonable expectation. Let me take care of that one." With this, she grabs a nearby plank of wood. She takes a swing, and there's a resounding _thump_ upon impact. Another _thump_ comes when she drops the board. "There," she declares, "Job finished. Not too hard."

Karkat nods slowly. His brows furrow even more than usual, only to return to their usual position as he rolls his eyes and grabs onto the unconscious blond. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. Let's just get the hell out of here."


	2. Otto van Chriek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapters are named after various vampires and i'm going to be real here and admit i don't know half of these characters, much less the books they come from. this one's apparently from discworld.

There's an eerie silence hanging in the air of the Vantas home. The high, airy ceilings are more foreboding that usual today; the creaky old floorboards seem to hiss instead of squeak. The drippy faucet in the kitchen pounds out a morbid beat. _Plop. Plop. Plop._ Once every five seconds. Exactly.  Karkat would know. He counted. He timed it. After all, there's only so much you can really do as an immortal being. Eventually, everyone is wont to boredom.

That's not the point, though. The point is that a certain Dave Strider has been staring expectantly at his captors for the past twenty minutes.

At this point, even Karkat must admit that it's getting a bit ridiculous. So, he clears his throat. He runs his fingers through his hair and musters up enough courage to say some sort of greeting. Although, considering the situation, it might not be appropriate to call it a greeting; it's more of a horribly butchered statement of acknowledgement. "So… I suppose I should try to explain some shit…"

Before he can finish, Dave jumps in. He speaks with an odd accent, something that neither of his captors can place, and maintains a solid monotone regardless of what he's saying. If one positive thing must be said about Dave, it's that he would make a damned good interrogator. "I get to turn into a fuckin' bat, right?" His neutral expression shifts, belaying the slightest hint of insincerity. "I'm a creature of the night and all that, right? Well, shit. This is new and different. I don't think there's been much study in the field of Deaf vampires."

From Karkat, there comes a long sigh.

From Kanaya, the only response is a bewildered huff.

Dave simply continues. He gives off the distinctive aura of someone talking just to fill the silence. it's like he's talking to hear himself talk, though that clearly can't be the case. "So, hey, let's even out the playing field. You can text me the shit you want to say. Easier than lip reading. Especially in this place." Here, he scoffs. He tips his shades up with his thumb, allowing for a clear view of the fact that he's rolling his eyes. When he's done, he drops them back into place. Adjusting the position of his outdated sunglasses with the forefinger and thumb of his left hand, he continues, "You don't have _any_ lights in here. It's like a fuckin' ghost town." Apparently amused by what must be his strange personal concept of a joke, he snickers. "Ghosts. They're dead. Kind of like vampires, right?"

By now, Karkat finally snaps. "Do you ever shut the fucking fuck up!?"

The comment goes unnoticed. Dave shrugs, cocks his head to the side, and quirks his brows. The best possible description of what he looks like is a confused dog. He looks like a dog trying to decipher large, human words for which he has no context. "You're going to have to be a lot louder than that, pal."

"Ack." A monosyllabic sound is all that Karkat can manage as he tangles his fingers in his hair.

Fortunately, his companion has a more level-headed grasp on the situation. Kanaya, rather than offering any hint of her underlying emotions, pulls a phone from her pocket. For a few minutes, she discusses things with Dave. The texts go back and forth.

For the sake of this story, however, it is far more interesting to examine things from a less collected viewpoint. That is to say that Karkat has no clue what's happening. To him, this entire affair is rocket science, and take into account that this is a man who has never been particularly good at science. He sputters like a stalled car and fumes like one, too. If frustration was smoke, even the long-broken fire alarms throughout his home would be going off. "What the fuck are you doing?" he hisses.

Kanaya shrugs. There's a wry grin on her face. It's the type of smile that people have when they're doing a fairly bad job of trying to hide their amusement. "I'm being social. You're the one who jumped this kid, though, so you should probably be the one talking to him."

"I'd rather gag myself with a live gopher," Karkat announces matter-of-factly. He folds his arms defiantly across his chest and groans. Somewhere, beneath layer upon layer of frustration, he knows that Kanaya is right. He understands that he's committed a formidable offense; he's aware of the fact that he's lucky that Kanaya hasn't just turned his ass over to authorities. So, with all the bravado of a whiny toddler, he acquiesces. He pulls out his phone and taps out a simple attempt at an introduction.

Kanaya, clearly unfazed by Karkat's commentary, nods. "That sounds pleasant. The part about the gopher. I suppose that would be the most lively thing you've done in the past two hundred years or so, right?"

"Did I _ask_ for your smart ass commentary?"  Karkat mutters under his breath.

Dave, meanwhile, offers a response to the text he received moments earlier. "Wow. You don't beat around the bush, dude. I like that."

A flattened left hand moves, rotating at the wrist, to form a small circle. _Go on,_ Karkat's motion says, _Keep fucking talking._

Dave is more than happy to oblige. He offers an indifferent shrug and a dismissive hum. "I guess this whole thing is a little inconvenient, if you get my drift. And I've got a gig tonight… I'll probably have to cancel that, huh?"

"Of fucking course," Karkat mutters under his breath. After getting jab in the side from Kanaya, however, he resorts to offering a solemn nod. A more outwardly sincere gesture, perhaps, but not at all genuine. "Yeah. That's probably the best course of action here," he responds via text.

In what might just be his first display of emotion since meeting his oddball captors, Dave sighs. His shoulders slouch forwards. "Fuck. I was going to get paid a shitload for that gig." Despite this comment, he quickly rebounds. A mischievous spark brightens his mood within seconds; unbeknownst to both Karkat and Kanaya, that same spark also lights his eyes. "Or you could pay it back. Nothing much. Just a few million."

"A few… million?" Karkat sputters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, comments and feedback are welcome and appreciated. also **kiss kiss fall in love**


	3. Vlad Drakul

To Karkat, a man who was technically born four hundred years ago and hasn't touched anything more technologically advanced than a single-channel black-and-white television, it's mind-boggling. Dave flicks from place to place on his phone like a pro. The images blur together, and his eyes are visible without the lenses of his sunglasses. Back and forth. Back and forth, "Yeah," he announces, "Three and a half million. That's about as much as the gig was going to pay. Knocked you down a few hundred thousand, too." Here, he smiles, as if he's done the biggest favor possible.

In return, Karkat frowns. His brows furrow, pressing together until the inner edges are nearly together. After a few moments of stunned silence, he manages to stammer out a response. "I… What? That doesn't fucking help. At all. What the fuck, you… You… You goddamned moldy peanut."

"Interesting insult. I'll take it down to a solid three million for that." There's a brief pause as Dave removes his glasses. He studies the empty frames and prods at the remaining bits of lens in the frames. "You're immortal, right? You've got to have a lot of cash in this fuckin' dump of yours."

Karkat bristles at this comment. He folds his arms against his chest and does his best to make himself the picture of defiance. "It's hard to hold down a job when sunlight can kill you," he snaps. "By your logic, every goddamned florist and oddball cashier is a vampire. For all we know, the fat-ass cat hanging out in the alleyway is a vampire."

A simple shrug. A long, drawn-out yawn. Dave stretches his arms above his head and scratches behind his left ear. The action pushes up a large, bright red hearing aid. "Look, buddy, I'm not exactly swimming in cash, either. Hearing is fuckin' expensive. It's amazing how expensive it is, actually," as he speaks, he continues to rub behind his ear. The red plastic bobs up and down like a lost buoy in a turbulent lake. "Also, you _did_ wreck my shades. I like those shades. And they're kind of sentimental, so we can cross out just buying new ones. I'll need to get these things repaired, which is even more money."

If Dave's nervous habit is rubbing behind his ear, then Karkat's is folding his hands behind his back. In fact, as he begins to reply, he does just that. "Fuck." With hands clasped firmly behind his back, he mulls over a few key details. His main concern is financial. He couldn't care less about what happens to the blond twit after he pays him off; maybe, just maybe, he'll get hit by a bus. That would be lovely…

_Snap. Snap. Snap._

Looking up from the floor, Karkat finds himself staring at an irritated-looking Dave. "What?" he huffs. "What the fuck do you want? I don't have that much money. Go bother someone else. Lie down in front of a car and sue them. I don't give a flying, feculent fuck."

Dave only blinks. His left brow rises. "Yeah? What'd you say? I honestly can't be bothered to listen too closely to you, dude." To Karkat's relief, he finally stops rubbing behind his ear. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest.

"I'm out. Of. Money." Karkat yells the words in frustration. Somewhere, deep down, he's aware of the fact that raising his voice won't help. Still, it feel damned satisfying. "I can't pay you, jackass."

Dave blinks a few times. Then, he nods. It's a slow, thoughtful nod. The sort of nod that a businessperson does before hitting someone with a shitty offer. "Fine. Okay. Let's try this. You can pay me back by being my go-between. A verbal gopher." As if he realizes that his commentary makes as much sense as trying to microwave a flaming plate of battery fluid, he cuts to the point. "My last interpreter quit. Something about me being too fuckin' amazing for him to stand…"

"You're too damned _something_ to stand,"  Karkat mutters under his breath.

The comment goes unnoticed. Instead, Dave extends his hand towards the stunned older vampire. A surprisingly charming smile spreads across his face as he proposes a solution, "You learn sign language, follow me around for a while, and I'll let you off the hook."

A low, guttural growl rises from deep within Karkat's throat. He's well aware of the fact that this is a better idea; that doesn't make things better, though. Nonetheless, he grudgingly accepts the handshake. "Whatever," he says in a painfully fake dismissive tone, "I'll go along with this stupid charade for a while."

"Perfect," Dave hums. Everything about him indicates that he's pretty damned pleased with himself. "You've got three weeks before I swing by to drag you off to a life of slightly less obscurity than you're living in right now, bud."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, feedback, and suggestions are always appreciated!
> 
> yes, this is ouran high school host club but with vampires and less [read: no] harems

**Author's Note:**

> comments, feedback, and suggestions are always welcome!


End file.
